Showing posts with label shape poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shape poem. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 28, 2020

the canopy bed

Copyright Jeff Wood on Pixabay

in                                                        my                                    childhoood
room                                           there was a                                canopy bed
and I  dreamed many big dreams of many big things, believing that one day
they  would all come true, but in reality, big dreams lead to massive crashes
my dreams                                                                                     my hopes
came crashing                                                                              down hard
nobody heard                                                                              the sound of
my defeat                                                                                        except me
nobody gave                                                                                a flying damn
I was just                                                                                      a stupid girl
being a massive                                                                            drama queen
one day the                                                                                  canopy was
taken down                                                                                    and it was
never put                                                                                          back up
the little girl with a head full of dreams too massive for this world was dead
I buried her but the dreams continued to haunt me as I tried hard to conform
to a world that wasn't made for, that was filled with disdain for the likes of me
I no longer have a pretty canopy bed upon which to lay my ugly head, I said
to dream that I will wake up pretty and be the toast of the city, it's time to let
those dreams                                                                                  fall dead
don't look                                                                                       back now
your hope                                                                                      died somehow
it was                                                                                             too big
for this                                                                                            little world
now bury                                                                                        your dreams
and step                                                                                          in time
it's time                                                                                          to conform
you foolish                                                                                     little girl

notes
I'm not sure this looks like a canopy bed. I tried. I am dreadful at making shape poems.

I biffed the prompts yesterday (I did the "change" poem two days in a row), so today I'm doing two April PAD challenge prompts: massive and don't look back. The NaPoWriMo prompt was to describe a bedroom from my past.

And now for the inevitable blah-blah.

Content coyright 2020 by Cara Hartley

Please do not repost

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Tuesday, April 14, 2020

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 14 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 14: Your Legacy

Image by Barbara Bonanno from Pixabay

I
am not
what you hoped
but I am, nonetheless
the legacy that you created
I am your Frankenstein monster
built from the things
that made your life
worth living
I am a
twisted
sorry
awful
mockery
a failure
of a person
I am not 
what you hoped
but I am, nonetheless
the gifts you gave me

~cie~



NaPoWriMo: write a poem about the people who inspired you to write poems

April PAD Challenge: write a form poem

notes
I think the shape above is a chess pawn. It started out as a simple diamante but turned into what you see. It is what it is.

This poem addresses my late father. He was a professor of literature and humanities who also taught technical writing. I was a precocious little skidmark who learned to read and write by the time I was four years old. I think my father believed that this prodigious spark meant that I was destined for greatness. He read poetry to me. I started reading Edgar Allan Poe's works when I was six years old.

My father wound up tremendously disappointed in me. I was a fuckup who could never do anything right and I had a slew of psychological problems. I was singled out and abused by my peers. I married too young. I had one abusive relationship after another. I engaged in self-harm. Possibly, worst of all, between a fucked endocrine system and years of yo-yo dieting, I ended up fat. My father believed that being fat was a sign of failure. He always went to great lengths to prevent himself from being fat. He ran six miles a day for many years. However, his vascular system was a disaster. He had a major hemorrhagic stroke at 68 years old. At the time of his death at age 74, he had suffered several more strokes, had congestive heart failure and vascular dementia, and was confined to a wheelchair.

If anyone's first inclination is to tell me "cHeEr Up, U cAn StiLLL LUz3 tEh WaTeZ!!111!!!" my suggestion to you is to check the ever-loving fuck out of yourself. Preferably on ice during a hockey game. I tried to hate myself thin for 33 years. With my endocrine problems, it is highly unlikely that I will ever be thin unless I do what my great-grandmother did. She developed acute myelogenous leukemia, dropped from 300 pounds to 95 in the space of a year, and dropped dead. But hey, she cut a svelte figure in her coffin, and, apparently, that's the only fucking thing that counts. Never mind that she was now, you know, DEAD.

In any case, I'm not going to waste another goddamn minute of my time trying to hate myself into the body that other people think I'm supposed to have. Thirty-three years of that shit is long enough. People who think I, or anyone else should do that, can slam down a hot, steaming cup of STFU, read the following fine books, and fuck off forever. Or if you're not a brainwashed, narrow-minded asswipe and you simply think: "say, those books look like they have some good information," you can read them while drinking what you want and omit the fucking off part. I'd think that was pretty cool.


Sunday, November 17, 2019

November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2019: Day 12: Form

Image by Elizabeth Thomas from Pixabay

you
can't force
me to adhere
to a prescribed form
I'm totally a
free spirit
Fuck!

~Cie~

Note:
The November PAD Chapbook Challenge prompt was to write a form poem or anti-form poem. I've been doing a lot of heavy lifting in my poetry recently, so I wanted to just have fun with this one.

By the way, YouTube can kiss my butt with it's new stopping the music to check and see if I'm still listening bullshit. Bitch, I have the music on while I'm writing or sleeping and I like it like that. I don't want to have to check in with you. I want to let the damn music play.

Sunday, October 14, 2018

OctPoWriMo 2018: Day 14: Not Your Fat Joke


If
I
were
me
sooner
than
I
believed I could be
Then I would have
Followed my dreams
And believed in myself
In spite of people telling me
That people who look like me
Are only allowed to be
The butt of jokes
Fuck that shit
I refuse to
Disappear

~Cie~


Note:
I wasn't quite sure how to do it, but I think I made the basic shape of a certain gesture 


Saturday, October 28, 2017

OctPoWriMo 2017: Day 28: LONE


LONE
Lonely
Lonely me

I feel unwanted
I feel undeserving
I fear I'm fatally flawed

LONE, lonely me, fatally flawed

~Cie and Pepper~

Notes:
Here is another work which is autobiographical to the author and also descriptive of Fetch's female protagonist, Pepper Baiij.
I desperately want to get back to working on stories again. I am lost without them.
At least I met Gem on the astral plane while in a troubled sleep that I hoped never to wake from.
In a world that wants sunshine, flowers, chirping birds, and unicorn farts, I bring you depressing poetry. Hence, I walk alone through this life.

~Cie~